


(225): I can tell right now that knowing you will either be really fun or ruin my life

by orange_yarn



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Pietro Maximoff Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5316581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_yarn/pseuds/orange_yarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s just hitting her stride in L.A. when the Rager Hulk vs. Mega Iron Man footage goes viral, and it only gets worse from there. Homicidal robots and flying cities, actually end of days kind of stuff, and Clint? From what she can tell from a couple of shaky Vines and the trending tags on Twitter, he’s got himself right in the middle of all the <i>#sokovia</i> chaos.</p><p>(Fusion between AoU and the Matt Fraction Hawkeye comics, featuring Kate, Clint, Lucky, and the Maximoffs. I do what I want.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	(225): I can tell right now that knowing you will either be really fun or ruin my life

**Author's Note:**

> I realize this is not any of the other things I am supposed to be writing. Here's what happened. A couple of months ago my sister and I were talking about my dream cast for a Hawkeye Netflix original series. I said I wanted Max Riemelt as Clint Barton, Arden Cho as Kate Bishop, and Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Elizabeth Olson still as the Maximoff twins. [She made lovely art for me](http://theseaisagreatplace.tumblr.com/post/134234226422/so-my-sister-wrote-a-fic-thats-a-crossover-of-the), and then I had to write this fic.
> 
> Note, I realize this is the wrong set of Maximoffs for Kate to be palling around with, but as I said in the summary, I do what I want. Also, this fic ignores a certain event from the end of AoU that I will deny for the rest of my life, also because I do what I want.
> 
> I stole the title off texts from last night. This may or may not turn into a series.

-+-

 

It figures that Clint would get himself into a world of trouble the _second_ Kate let him out of her sight. She’s just hitting her stride in L.A. when the Rager Hulk vs. Mega Iron Man footage goes viral, and it only gets worse from there. Homicidal robots and flying cities, actually end of days kind of stuff, and Clint? From what she can tell from a couple of shaky Vines and the trending tags on Twitter, he’s got himself right in the middle of all the _#sokovia_ chaos.

Kate can’t exactly blame the guy for trying to save the world. He is an Avenger, apparently. She can, however, blame him for never answering his phone.

She spends three days driving frantically back across the country. Lucky hangs his head out the window, and she abandons her stellar Road Trip Mix to fiddle with local stations in every zip code, and dials Clint's number again, and again, and again. She doesn’t stop, no matter how many times it goes to voicemail, and not even when she’s finally standing outside his apartment in Bed-Stuy.

“I’m outside your apartment.” She presses the phone to one ear and peers down the hall in either direction, but none of the neighbors are around. “Pick up your phone!” She presses the end call button a little harder than necessary.

She’s pretty sure if an Avenger had gotten himself killed it would have made the news. She’s at least 95% sure. It’s just, the Avengers aren’t saying much of anything right now. Most of the news coverage is the same rolls of footage, and people trying to wrap their minds around what even happened.

He should have called her, he would have called her, no matter how badly their last conversation went. Something is definitely up, and Kate’s going to do something about it.

“Clint?” she balls up her fist and starts hammering on the door. It’s kind of pointless, if he’s got his hearing aids out, or if he’s not home, or especially if he’s dead, but it’s also extremely satisfying. None of the neighbors come out to see what she’s up to, so probably they’re not home, either. Lucky sits at her feet and whines. “Barton, you better not be dead!”

Still no answer. She gives up on knocking, rattling the doorknob instead. She’s definitely not expecting the knob to twist in her hand, or for the door to swing in and open, but it does. So, here she is, standing in the hallway, staring into Clint’s darkened apartment, which has probably never been left unlocked. If warning bells weren’t blaring in her head before, they sure are now.

She can hear soft breathing, just inside the apartment. Someone’s inside.

“Stay,” she commands Lucky, who responds by lying down and resting his head on his paws. Kate steps carefully into the apartment, suddenly glad she didn’t leave her gear in the car. “Hello?” she calls, but still no answer. She keeps one hand on her bow, and reaches for the lightswitch with the other, flipping the switches all at once.

Light floods the room, illuminating a shape sprawled out on Clint’s couch. It’s...not Clint, she realizes with a blink, and she can’t figure out if she’s more disappointed or confused. Disappointed, because finding Clint passed out on his couch is better than not finding him at all, and confused because who is this guy, and what is he doing in Clint’s apartment?

He’s younger than Clint, probably closer to her age, with a mop of tangled silver and brown hair. He’s breathing, she can see the steady rise and fall of his chest under like, four layers of blankets, but he’s dead to the world. There’s obviously something wrong with him, either he’s hurt or sick, because Kate gets close enough to crouch before him, and he still doesn’t wake.

“Hey.” Kate raises her voice, and he furrows his brow, but doesn’t open his eyes. His skin is pale and there are dark circles under his eyes. He looks mostly dead, and not at all like a threat, except. Except the longer she looks at him, the more he starts to look like that guy in exactly two frames of news footage, otherwise moving too fast for the cameras to pick up. She’s not sure how he went from apparently trashing labs with that psycho robot, to helping the Avengers evacuate that flying city, to crashing on Clint’s couch, but here he is. “Anybody home?” she asks, and pokes him in the shoulder.

That does the trick. He jerks back and his eyes snap open, wide and blue and disoriented for a couple of seconds before he focuses on Kate. “What--?” he gasps, startled, jerking away from her, wincing at the movement. Whatever happened in Sokovia, this guy obviously ended up a little worse for wear.

“Hi,” Kate says, sitting back on her heels, relaxing a little because this guy doesn’t stand a chance against her, anyway. “Where’s Clint, and also, what are you doing here?”

The guy stares at her for a long moment, blinks, and asks, “Who are you?”

“I’m Hawkeye,” Kate answers, then asks again, “Where’s Clint? Is he alright, because I swear, if he got himself killed--?”

“--You’re Hawkeye?” He cuts in a moment later, and she sighs, because she doesn’t have time for that song and dance. His eyes are narrowed, like he’s puzzling something together, and then he nods. “He said, he said there was a girl. Kate?” he asks, and she nods. “He said Kate might call.”

“Clint said that?” Kate presses, and the guy with awful hair nods once, eyes hazy. “To you? Like, recently? As in, he didn’t get himself killed in that flying city?”

“What? Barton’s not--” He shakes his head, like he’s still trying to wake up. “He is fine. How did you get in here?”

“The door was unlocked.” Kate waves a hand, but makes a mental note to chew Clint out about that later on. “So, he’s definitely not dead?” she clarifies, still watching the guy skeptically. She can’t figure out why he’d lie about it, but then again, she can’t figure out what he’s doing on Clint’s couch, draped in probably all of Clint’s blankets, or why he did that to his hair. “You’re sure?”

He pushes himself up into a sitting position. His lips are pressed into a thin line, and he doesn’t do a very good job of biting back a groan. “I am very sure,” he promises, his voice tight and pained. Lucky whines in response and ambles over towards the couch. The guy eyes him warily, like he’s worried the dog will jump up on him. “Why did you bring your dog?”

“He’s Clint’s dog,” Kate answers, but she’s distracted, because all she’s seen online is a blue blur, but this guy is moving like a grandpa. He probably shouldn’t be moving at all. She’s spent enough time with Clint to know when someone’s sporting bandages, and he’s done up like a mummy. “What happened to you?”

“I got shot,” he answers gruffly, leaning against the back of the couch. He reaches out a hand cautiously, and Lucky noses at his palm. “Barton did not mention a dog.”

“Yeah, I kind of...borrowed him,” Kate admits. He huffs out a laugh, moving to scratch behind Lucky’s ears, the dog thumping his tail on the floor. “What’s your name?” she asks a moment later, since that’s probably an important detail, and googling _fast dude sokovia_ on her phone isn’t getting her anywhere.

“Pietro.” He pats the couch beside him, but Lucky loses interest, shuffling away to go and nose at his empty food bowl in the kitchen. Kate pushes herself up to follow him, and rustles around in the cabinets until she finds half a bag of dog food. That’s just about all she finds -- how Clint hasn’t starved to death, she has no idea. Dog food and coffee beans, and that’s it. “They went for food, I think,” Pietro tells her, still planted on the couch, and Kate glances back over at him. He’s gone even paler, like just sitting up drained his energy, and she gets the feeling there’s more to the story than I got shot.

“They?” She opens and closes the cabinet, which is also empty, before heading back into the living room. Pietro’s eyes have fallen closed, and his breathing’s evening out, already halfway back asleep. He looks like he could use the rest, but Kate’s still got questions. “Hey, stay awake.” Pietro cracks one eye open and glares at her. “Who else went with him?”

“My sister,” he explains, closing his eyes again, and Kate thinks of the girl on the news, with long hair and freaky red eyes. She’s not entirely sure what she thinks of Clint’s new friends. “Wanda said he would not buy real food, if he went alone,” he adds, and Kate takes it back. She likes this girl already.

“How long ago?” She makes for the front door, peering out the peephole, but the hallway is clear, and quiet.

Pietro shrugs, and then winces like he regrets it. “An hour ago? Maybe less.” Kate turns back around just in time to see him tug the blankets back up around his shoulders. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“You are terrible guard,” Kate informs him, glancing down at her phone, and doing the math in her head. Clint can’t have gone further than the corner market, he should be back anytime. “I could have totally killed you by now.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Pietro mumbles, blankets pulled up to his nose, but before Kate can ask what that’s supposed to mean there’s a familiar voice in the hallway, and the front door swings open.

Clint gets maybe half a step inside his apartment before he sees Kate. He freezes in the doorway, arms full of grocery bags and a blank look of confusion on his face. “What are you--?” he asks, brow furrowed like he can’t make sense of her, standing there. “Why are you here?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kate answers, her tone just south of scathing. Now that Clint’s here, standing in front of her and apparently fine, her worry is shifting into irritation, heading for outright anger. “Maybe because you’re all over the news, getting punched by robots and blowing up entire cities. Maybe because I’ve been driving across country for three days and _you weren’t answering your phone_.”

“Technically, Tony and Thor blew up the city,” Clint argues, and Kate rolls her eyes. Out in the hall, a girl peers around his shoulder, her eyes wide and dark. "And I lost my phone, I guess. Sorry." He almost sounds like he means it.

Clint shifts the grocery bags in his arms, and the girl edges around him and into the apartment. Pietro’s sister, Kate figures, on account of the way she makes straight for the couch, and the fact that the two of them have the same face. They have to be twins, no two people should look that much alike. She drops onto the couch beside him and tugs the blankets away, running her fingers through his hair.

“Your door was unlocked,” Kate says, turning back to Clint, and if she sounds accusatory, well. “You should maybe have a chat with your head of security.” She hikes a thumb at Pietro on the couch behind her, but he doesn’t take the bait, so he might actually be asleep.

“I also lost my keys.” Clint adjusts the bags again. “We can keep arguing, if you want, but I’m gonna set this down first.” Kate scowls, but steps back, letting him into the kitchen.

“I could have been a murderer,” Kate points out as Clint drops the bags unceremoniously on the counter, then crouching down to pet Lucky, ruffling his fur, his dog whining happily. “Or at least, like, a burglar.”

“There is nothing here to steal,” Pietro scoffs, so, still awake. His sister -- Wanda -- is leaning over him, poking at prodding at his bandages.

“Watch yourself, kid,” Clint grumbles, but there’s no heat behind his words. He pats Lucky once more before standing up and fussing with the coffeemaker instead. Kate peers into one of the grocery bags and finds mostly just soup. She’s not sure he has anything to cook it in.

“So, all that business with the robots?” Kate prompts, reaching into a cabinet and passing Clint a couple of coffee mugs. “Is it really over?”

“It’s over,” Clint confirms. He doesn’t look happy about it, though, he just looks tired -- more exhausted than Kate’s ever seen him, and so far, she thought she’d seen him at his worst.

“He’s feverish,” Wanda announces, and Kate and Clint turn to the couch in unison. Wanda’s frowning, the back of her hand pressed to her brother’s forehead, and Pietro halfheartedly trying to dodge her.

“Here.” Clint reaches around Kate and into the second bag, fishing out a box of some over the counter medication, and tossing it to Wanda. “Got some meds that might help.”

“They will not do not any good,” Pietro assures them, but Wanda ignores him, mumbling in another language as she peels apart the little shiny capsule, and dumping two pills into her hand. “Wanda, there’s no point.”

“Can you just, I don’t know, not argue, for once?” Clint rubs at his temple and sounds like he’s trying not to raise his voice, but mostly failing. “I knew I shouldn’t have busted you out of the hospital.”

“I’m only saying, they won’t work,” Pietro insists, but he downs the pills, dry-swallowing them, probably because his sister is glaring at him. “And I would have left anyway, you know that.”

Wanda rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t have made it down the hall.” She purses her lips, eyeing her brother critically. “But Clint is right, we should not have let you leave.”

“Oh, now you’re on _his_ side,” Pietro starts, but Kate’s had just about enough by then.

“Okay, everybody hold up.” Kate raises both her hands, and the room goes silent. She locks eyes with Clint, pointing at Wanda and Pietro over on the couch. “What is going on? Who are they?”

“That’s kind of a long story?” Clint tugs at his ear, leaning back against the counter. “And they’re...staying here for a while, I guess. At least until the kid is a little...less dead.”

“Less dead?” Kate echoes, voice flat.

“It’s a really long story.” Clint sighs. “Can I borrow your phone? I kind of have to deal with a thing,” he asks, and Kate flips him off. “I swear I’ll explain everything, just, not right now.”

“Ugh, fine.” Kate presses her phone into his hand. Clint nods his thanks and heads for the hallway, Lucky at his heels.

Kate waits for the door to click closed behind him before stalking back into the living room and taking a perch on the arm of the couch.

“Alright,” she says, and the twins blink up at her in unison. Creepy. “Start talking.”

 

  
-+-

**Author's Note:**

> Let's see how quickly I can get the second part finished. Also, I could possibly be posting something else sometime soon. Maybe.
> 
> orange-yarn.tumblr.com


End file.
